


It's alright if you wanna come back to me

by Ellstra



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Getting Back Together, M/M, there's manipulation at first but then not so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:39:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellstra/pseuds/Ellstra
Summary: Galen is afraid he might lose his position and not be there to plant the flaw in the Death Star. Krennic still adores him, and Galen decides to take advantage of it. But he gets lost in his own lie.





	It's alright if you wanna come back to me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Binary_Sunset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binary_Sunset/gifts).



> For the tremendously patient Tori who waited for me to finish this piece.

“And as you can see here, this would make the engines more efficient and would increase the utilization of the kyber energy,” the new engineer concludes his report and looks at Galen with ambition in his young face. Galen smiles woefully as he recalls similar pride in another pair of eyes from his past. 

“That is a brilliant observation, Laert,” Galen says slowly and looks at the schematics on the datapad. There are bold colourful lines and scribbling on the sides explaining what Laert just said but Galen doesn't really need to look at it. Using it more as an opportunity not to look at the man, he takes his time to respond. 

“Thank you, sir,” Laert all but gloats at the praise. 

“I'll bring it up to director Krennic,” Galen promises, “you can go, if that's all.” 

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

Galen glances at the blueprints, not to see Laert’s suggestions but rather the boldness of them. All the same, his ideas are bright and innovative, and Galen wonders, briefly, if Laert wouldn't be just as capable of running the construction of the Empire’s super weapon as himself. Which is something Galen cannot afford. 

If his plan to undermine Krennic’s grand project is to succeed, he can't let himself be replaced, or even allow Krennic to think he's anything but vital to the project. Galen had been reluctant to accept his role in the project at first but he turned it into his advantage. Laert is uncomfortably clever, and Galen might have to resort to dishonest practices if he wants to keep his position. 

But first, he decides to talk to Krennic. The director seems to be fond of, even have a soft spot for him, despite the years that passed since there was anything more than professional respect between them. It’s about time Galen finally uses it.

He goes through Laert’s work once again and tries to figure out a way how to make it seem he was somehow the one who made the discovery without straight-out claiming someone else’s achievement. But then again, honesty might be the best policy here - Laert only improved  _ his _ idea after all. Galen is still the one who discovered the way the crystals could be used. 

When he’s sure he’s organised his thoughts accordingly, he stands up from his desk and makes his way to Krennic’s room. They’re staying in a grand building on Coruscant that Krennic helped design, and Galen still has problems with the enormous bath tub that looks more like a swimming pool. Krennic on the other hand seems like he was born into luxury, and he carries himself like a king down the halls. Galen always found it fascinating how easily Krennic breezed in to the busy life of the heart of the Empire, while Galen himself still cowered in front of the frankly unnecessary servants on each corner. 

He knocks absent-mindedly on Krennic’s door and waits. The halls are oddly quiet, which he appreciates but is too preoccupied to question. 

“Who is it?” Krennic calls. He sounds sleepy, and Galen finally checks the chrono on his datapad. It’s a little past midnight. 

“It’s me,” he says, and half-expects Krennic to tell him to shut up and go away. 

“Galen,” Krennic opens the door, “would it do any good to remind you that some people need sleep?”

“I’m sorry,” Galen apologizes, “I can come back in the morning.”

“It’s okay, come in,” Krennic smiles and Galen can’t help smiling in return, “you’re always welcome here.”

Krennic is wearing a royal blue bathrobe and his hair is slightly damp. Galen’s eyes slip to Krennic’s bare feet, and he wonders if Krennic is naked beneath the robe. He bites his lip when he notices Krennic’s amused smile, and clears his throat. 

“One of my engineers has found a way how to improve the engine of the weapon,” he says quickly before the air gets even hotter between them. That’s the problem with Krennic, and the reason why Galen tries to avoid him as much as possible. As much as he wants to hate him, Krennic still finds a way to look gorgeous and make Galen’s eyes and mind wander. It’s difficult to keep a conversation with him. They sit down on either side of Krennic’s pretentious sturdy table and Galen awkwardly sets the turned off datapad on it.

“That’s impressive,” Krennic says, and Galen feels the ‘why was it necessary to tell me in the middle of the night?’ hanging unspoken in the air. 

“I’m sorry, I should have realised what time it was,” he apologizes and looks down onto his knees.

“It’s okay, Galen, I told you you can come whenever you want,” Krennic sounds lenient, and that makes Galen look up. 

“Okay. Well, the thing is I think with this discovery, we should be able to start building it.”

“Amazing news. I’ll get in touch with the people responsible,” Krennic smiles genuinely this time, “shall we get a celebratory glass of whiskey?”

“Alright,” Galen nods. Krennic smirks as if he’s just learnt some secret or won a bet, and stands up to get two glasses from a nearby cabinet. He even has the little table with bottles of alcohol Galen has only ever seen in holovids before.

“How come you’re not at some party dazzling young minds?” Galen asks to establish a conversation but it comes out more bitter than he intended. 

“It’s no fun without you,” Krennic shrugs and pours two glasses from a bottle that looks unusually inconspicuous for Krennic’s standards. Galen supposes it’s the kind that’s expensive without being ostentatious. 

“You go to parties all the time even without me,” he points out and accepts a glass. It fits nicely in his hand, and he hopes it’s one of the types of alcohol you’re allowed to hold like that rather than by the stem. 

“Maybe I thought you’d be coming to visit me tonight,” Krennic shrugs and swirls the glass, staring through it intently. Galen is not particularly socially apt but he can recognise an invitation to a flirt, especially if it comes from someone he knows as well as Krennic. He’s been ignoring his advances for years, trying to play daft and hopefully succeeding, but something tells him to play Krennic’s game this time. 

“To your intuition then,” Galen raises the glass, “and to how you look in this bathrobe.”

“And to how good you look sitting in my chair,” Krennic mimics Galen’s gesture and the glasses clink, a dull colourful tone. 

“How long has it been since we talked in private like this?” Galen asks, meaning to show Krennic that this has moved from professional to personal conversation. 

“Three years, seven months, a couple of days,” Krennic says matter-of-factly, “unless you count that time you barged in here and yelled at me because of some safety problem.”

“Oh, I didn't mean it literally,” Galen replies, a little taken aback, “I didn't realize you counted it.”

“I didn't want to get into a situation where I wouldn't know how to answer you again,” Krennic shrugs, leaving a memory hang in the air. Galen knows what he’s referring to, but he’s in no mood to bring the past up again. The past, or Lyra. He can’t afford losing his focus now that he has a goal to meet. 

“I didn’t realise it was this long,” he says, turning the conversation back on the two of them to make it clear he doesn’t want to talk about his wife. “I suppose I do work too much.”

“You’ve always worked too much,” Krennic says, “you worked and worked and worked and lived off cheap food and caf until you couldn’t keep going and you passed out. I was there.”

“Yeah, you were always ready to get me a hot soup and pat me on the back, and I’m thankful for that.”

Galen makes a pause and forces himself to hold Krennic’s gaze, trying to appear to be thinking of other things Krennic did to make him stop working for a while. When he's sure they're thinking of the same thing, he loosens his posture a little, sliding down the chair in an inviting manner and he takes a sip of the alcohol. 

“You used to let me do those things,” Krennic points out and leans forward, his bathrobe opening on his chest. Galen glimpses a patch of skin covered in fine hairs and remembers why he allowed it. 

“You used to fight for the right.”

“Why are you playing with me, Galen?” Krennic asks harshly. “I thought we agreed to be honest with each other.”

“I just made a huge scientific breakthrough in a project we’ve been working on for years. I wanted to celebrate it,” Galen says and wills himself not to look away even though every instinct tells him to avert his eyes in shame. 

“You’ve been avoiding me for years and now you want to celebrate with me? In the middle of the night?” 

“I can leave if you want me to.”

Krennic shakes his head almost imperceptibly. He seems to be fighting an internal battle. Galen waits for him, sipping on the alcohol. He’s already feeling light-headed - when was the last time he ate? 

“Will you stay then?” Krennic asks from beneath his eyelashes. 

“Of course.”

There’s no need for ‘If you want me to’, or even time. Galen suddenly doesn’t know what else to do. They’re separated by the table and despite their relaxed postures, it still feels more like an official meeting than a conversation between two friends. Or lovers. Krennic obviously thinks so too, and he stands up, taking a few confident steps towards Galen. 

“I missed you,” he breathes out and bends down for a kiss. 

His lips are dry and taste of alcohol and yet Galen melts into them like he used to. There’s no need to think now, there’s just feeling, and it feels nice. Krennic tips Galen’s chin up with his hand, his fingers resting on the side of Galen’s neck. 

“I missed you too,” Galen whispers when they part, and it’s only partially a lie. He pushes away all the musings that got him where he is, he sends Lyra away, then Jyn. If he’s to go through with this, he has to do it well, and to do this he has to put his whole heart into it. Krennic smiles, genuinely, contently, and his eyes glint. His hand moves down Galen’s throat, just barely, until he’s tugging at the collar. Galen’s breath hitches and he almost pulls away. Almost. Krennic’s fingers feel familiar against his skin, and he’s been alone for a long time. He could do worse than a man who adores him. 

Galen places a hand on Krennic’s hip, feeling the smooth fabric of his bathrobe. It must have been expensive - and to think nobody would see it. What a shame. Krennic is trembling beneath Galen’s touch and he seems to be more nervous than the first time they gave in to their curiosity back at the Academy. 

“Are you nervous?” Galen asks, taken aback. 

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Krennic nods and sets his unfinished glass on the table behind him. 

“Let me make you believe,” Galen purrs and runs his hand down Krennic’s abdomen until he reaches the belt that keeps the robe closed. He has to admit he’s curious about Krennic’s body, how it changed during the years. Krennic closes his eyes for a bit, and he takes a deep breath. Galen is still holding his own glass, and for some reason he doesn’t want to set it down. He should make it clear once again who’s in charge out of the two of them. 

Galen loosens the knot on Krennic’s belt, slowly, deliberately. He lets one of the strands flow between his fingers before letting it fall to the ground. The smooth fabric opens but only slightly, tantalizing. Galen takes a sip of his whiskey, swallowing against Krennic’s fingers still around his neck. He looks up into Krennic’s wide eyes and licks his lips. 

“Were you expecting me?” Galen asks and trails his hand back towards Krennic’s hip and then lower, on his thigh. He’s recalling an old code they used and Krennic almost flushes when he understands.

“No,” he admits, “I do expect you sometimes but not today.”

“What a shame,” Galen shrugs, “maybe next time.” 

Krennic exhales abruptly, as if he’s sobbing. Galen watches him with amusement.

“Maybe I’ll help you otherwise,” Galen suggests, his hand resting on Krennic’s thigh, “if you ask nicely.”

“Please,” Krennic mumbles, “please. I need your help.”

“Well if you ask so prettily,” Galen drawls, “I might make an exception.” 

He parts Krennic’s bathrobe at last and brushes it off Krennic’s shoulders. It falls to his elbows but Galen doesn’t let him drop it further. Somehow, he looks more exposed with the clothing tugged away than altogether naked. Finally, Galen focuses on Krennic’s cock waiting for his attention. He almost throws all caution out of the window and drops to his knees to suck it, but something stops him. There’s no rule against him enjoying himself when he’s manipulating Krennic, but he should assert his dominance before letting himself go. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” he mumbles and takes a sip again. Krennic’s hand has moved from his neck onto his shoulder, and it feels like Krennic is trying to ground himself. 

“Yes, please.”

“Like this?” Galen runs a finger down the length of Krennic’s cock, almost feeling it stiffen. He regrets not wearing the gloves that go with his uniform - he’s always thought they were useless and pretentious but he could use them now. When he thinks of it, he wonders if this is the reason why officers wear them at all. 

“Oh,” Krennic moans. His desire would be embarrassing if the feeling wasn’t mutual. Galen is not particularly proud of it, but he has been alone for a long time and Krennic is just as alluring as he was back at school. 

And just as responsive. Krennic throws his head back and his eyes fall shut in pleasure. He's leaning against the table behind him, one hand clutching the desk, the other curled in Galen’s uniform. 

“You’re desperate like a virgin,” Galen chuckles and stops stroking Krennic for a while to savor the moment. “Has anyone else had you since I left?”

“Yes,” Krennic mumbles, as if he's ashamed. Galen didn't expect a negative answer - didn’t  _ want  _ it, but Krennic obviously thinks he did. 

“And were they as good to you as I was?” Galen inquires. He's being vain and proud and he doesn't care. Krennic has always had the gift of bringing out the worst in him - as well as the best. Krennic’s intensity doesn’t allow anyone in his vicinity do anything half-heartedly. 

“No,” Krennic admits, “nobody is as good as you. I tried to think they were you but it didn't help, because they just weren't as good.”

“My poor boy,” Galen smiles and wraps his fingers around Krennic’s cock again, “I missed you too. Nobody adores me quite as much as you do, is that right?” 

“It is,” Krennic moans, “I adore you.”

“I know you do,” Galen finishes his drink, sets the glass on the table and leans forward. “Show me how much you love me, Orson. Come for me.”

Krennic whimpers at the sound of his first name and shudders. Galen runs his fingers along the shaft of Krennic’s cock to his balls and he cups them, sending Krennic crying over the edge. 

Krennic comes in hot spurts all over Galen’s lap. He whimpers a little and he nearly falls on top of Galen, clutching his shoulder. He's breathing heavily, icy eyes dilated. 

“Come here,” Galen pats his lap and the caresses Krennic’s cheek, “show me what a beautiful boy you are.” 

Krennic sighs happily and he sits on Galen’s lap, smearing his own come on both of them. He leans back against Galen’s chest and nuzzles his neck from the side. Galen runs his hand down Krennic's form, too lithe, over the silhouette of his ribs and a scar from an old operation. 

“I missed you so much, Galen,” Krennic mumbles, “so much.”

“I know darling,” Galen agrees and he kisses Krennic. It's his first kiss in years and he opens his mouth hungrily for Krennic’s tongue. They find a rhythm easily, clicking back together as if the years of separation were nothing. “I know.” 

Galen doesn’t allow Krennic to suck him off that night, no matter how much he begs. He’s tired and emotional, and he doesn’t think he could control himself enough not to do something he’d regret. Like fall in love with Krennic again. He does agree to sleeping in the same bed, and he holds Krennic close like he used to. He lies awake long after Krennic’s fallen asleep, thinking of where the future is going to take him, begging the Force to guide him and Lyra to forgive him.

…

Galen’s plan works maybe a tad too well. He expected Krennic to be at least a little wary of his advances, considering the sudden change in his behaviour, but the director accepts him unreservedly. It unsettles Galen, makes him worry that he’s being played too. 

Krennic gives himself to Galen with almost tentative urgency, like he needed to be touched yesterday. Galen knows it’s dangerous to accept him, to get caught up in the net of Krennic’s affection again, but he has to believe he'll manage not to get lost. He knows who Krennic is and what he’s capable of, that his world-views are not just youthful imprudence. But he also knows that Krennic adores him, and that he’s a thorough and dutiful lover, and still as brilliant. And Galen likes being adored.

Krennic seems to be glowing ever since they got back together and he works at several projects at once, apparently finding the drive and energy he had been lacking. Galen doesn’t know if he’s thrilled or afraid, but he doesn’t get much time to ponder. He’s either working or with Krennic - it’s almost like they’re making up for the time they missed. Krennic cooks dinner every night, insisting Galen should be rewarded for his hard work. It makes Galen feel a little uncomfortable, like he’s being lured into a trap, but he doesn’t protest. If Krennic wants to be a house-wife to him, then so be it. Galen doesn’t care if it’s wrong - he’s playing tricks on Krennic after all. 

Galen has to admit his own life improved greatly too. Krennic makes sure he eats, sleeps and showers, and there’s always someone to talk to when his own mind becomes too crowded or loud. Galen is painfully aware of just how much he missed simply talking with someone. He has several colleagues he might even call friends, but there’s an invisible barrier between them, the barrier Galen has always felt between himself and people around him. He enjoys talking to them during breaks but it never goes beyond that. He’s got so used to being alone that he didn’t even remember how amazing it feels to connect with someone. 

And he does connect with Krennic, as much as he tries to deny it to himself. There’s a simplicity, a casualness to their interactions; Galen never has to search for words or consider them before he speaks. He doesn’t control what he says because it doesn’t matter. Krennic will always see right through him. 

And of course, there’s the Death Star, the main objective why he went to Krennic that night. As months pass by, Galen has difficulties remembering the goal. Not that he believes this is the right way, the immense power of the crystals being used for intimidation and desolation, but being with Krennic feels so natural, logical like a law of physics. Galen doesn’t forget what he promised himself and Lyra’s memory. He would never complete the station without a flaw, and it’s easier than ever now that Krennic declared there is no reason for him to go through reports Galen wrote.

_ “Are you sure?” Galen asks. Krennic has never been reckless or overly trusting. _

_ “Did you write it?”  _

_ “Yes, of course.” _

_ “Then there’s no need for me to go through it. I know it’s perfect, and I know you’d inform me about anything important.” _

_ “But what if I made a mistake?” _

_ “Have you ever made a mistake?” _

_ Galen doesn’t answer, which obviously satisfies Krennic, as if it proves his point. It doesn’t, but Galen doesn’t say what’s creeping on his tongue, almost making him combust. ‘I’m making a mistake right now.’ _

_ … _

“Orson,” Galen whispers sleepily, “I need to get up.”

The alarm clock is beeping mercilessly on the bedside table but Galen doesn’t reach out to turn it off. Orson is sprawled all over him, refusing to move, but he’ll get annoyed by the noise soon enough. Galen can wait, knowing he’ll win. He always wins.

“How about I write you an excuse,” Orson groans against Galen’s chest, “I’m your superior. I can do that.”

“Come on,” Galen chuckles, “I’ll bring you some breakfast.”

“How about you’re for breakfast?” Orson mutters and he opens his eyes. He moves a little and hits the button on the alarm clock, silencing it at last. 

“Was last night not enough for you?” Galen asks, “One would think you’re trying to kill me.”

“There’s never enough of you,” Orson protests and he settles back down on Galen’s chest.

“My engineers will be waiting for me.”

“Are they more important to you than I am?” 

“My work is important,” Galen points out and he kisses the top of Orson’s head, “to both of us.”

“You always know what to say to make me yield,” Orson mumbles accusingly, “that’s not fair.”

“That’s because I love you,” Galen says, “now come on. I’ll be back in the evening.”

They part their ways after breakfast, which consists of caf for Orson and tea and some pastry for Galen, and go their separate ways to build the Empire’s mightiest weapon. Or more precisely, Orson to fight for his right to be its commander and Galen to plant a flaw in it to let it blow up into pieces when the time comes. 

He's had several moments of doubt about his intentions. He can see that Orson adores him, and would do anything for him, that maybe he could be convinced not to fire the weapon. Galen feels guilty and terrible for deceiving the person he loves, even in the name of a good cause, and there are times when the truth itches on his tongue. The Death Star is Orson’s child and Galen is deliberately making it sick. But there's no way out; the Imperials won't do what he asks for. 

The day passes in a whirlwind of ideas, dealing with accidents and moderating the more impulsive engineers in his group. Galen had never expected to be the one to shut down ideas but responsibility changes a person. During a reconnaissance route on a planet that is supposed to have extraordinary properties thanks to deposits of kyber crystals, Galen encounters a rock whose colour reminds him of Orson’s eyes, and decides to take it back home. It's automatic and he doesn't even think twice about it. Orson is perpetually on his mind, always demanding attention, as he has always been, although there was a time when most of it revolved around wanting Orson dead. He doesn't remember having those feelings, he simply knows they must have been there at some point.

He comes home - their shared flat in one of Coruscant’s quieter, more expensive neighbourhoods - a little early. They collected enough data in shorter time than he anticipated and he opens the door almost an hour before his promised arrival. A pleasant smell meets him right there, and he sighs happily. He offered to cook to make their relationship more balanced but he had to take it back after one attempt. Besides, Orson seems to genuinely enjoy cooking and watching Galen eat whatever he prepared. 

“Galen!” Orson runs into the hall, wearing nothing but a dirty apron and a spatula in one hand. Galen has never quite understood his habit to cook naked but he doesn't complain. 

“That's not the welcome I usually get.”

“I didn't expect you this early,” Orson mumbles.

“Do you want me to leave and come back in an hour?” Galen asks. Orson is usually ecstatic to see him come home earlier. Galen wonders if he didn’t forget about one of their anniversaries - Orson insists on celebrating each of the numerous times when they got together - or maybe his own birthday, but he doesn’t think so. Odd.

“That would be amazing,” Orson beams, “and since you’re going out, could you bring me back a bar of chocolate?”

“Of course,” Galen nods and moves to kiss Orson on the cheek before walking back out again. He strolls around the block and admires the trees in bloom in the park. Orson initially wanted to live in the center, where all the action is, but Galen convinced him to reconsider. Coruscant is still a little overwhelming, but at least he has a bit of nature to hide in if he needs. 

Galen buys the chocolate in a small shop, carefully picking one Orson might appreciate the most. He wants to do this right, since Orson can be very picky with his chocolate or caf. Galen knows his favourites, but some are more suitable for various occasions than others. This should be a special one, so he settles for the smooth, sweeter one with salt in it. The cashier initiates small talk, and he finds himself responding instead of looking away. She knows him, Orson’s cravings for quality chocolate are quite legendary, and Galen chats with her for a few minutes - about the weather, about recent events.

He’s in a good mood when he walks back to their flat, a small bag in his hand. He climbs the stairs to the fifth floor just because he can, and he’s panting slightly at the top. He unlocks the door and steps inside. Orson doesn’t come greet him in the hall, which he considers odd but doesn’t think too much about it. He takes his shoes off and makes his way into the kitchen where he expects to find Orson.

And he does find him, although certainly not like he expected. Orson is sitting on the floor completely naked, covered only in gentle white flowers. Galen sees them scattered all over the floor, among plates with food. It looks amazing, perfect to every detail. 

“Did you come up with another anniversary?” Galen asks for the lack of other things to say.

“Can’t I just surprise you?” Orson purrs, “I don’t want you to get bored with me, or think you can predict me.”

If there’s one thing Galen knows about Orson, it’s his love for theatrics and grandiosity. He also knows that no matter how long they are together, Orson will never be predictable. Galen sets the chocolate, his keys and wallet on the kitchen counter, walking closer to Orson. He’ll get instructions soon enough - there’s a plan and hierarchy in the meals and Galen knows Orson is the dessert. 

“I've prepared a sort of challenge for you. There are four courses laid out in front of you, as you can see. I want you to try each of them and guess as many ingredients as you can. If you get seven of them right, you can move on to the next course. I think it's obvious what the last one is,” Orson smirks at the end of the statement. 

“Should I undress a little before we start?” Galen asks. This is Orson’s domain and his game, so they'll play it by his rules. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Orson replies, enigmatic as always. Galen settles for removing his jacket and sits down to the first course, holding Orson’s gaze. 

“You didn't make it easy,” he points out as he picks the plate, inspecting it with his eyes first, “you've never prepared this for me.” 

“I have good faith in your abilities,” Orson smiles, “and in my teaching.”

“There's the purple ginger,” Galen says, sniffing it, “and rostella.” 

“Very good. Two down, five to go.”

Galen picks up a fork from the floor and pokes the meal with it. It’s a small multicolour cylinder with black sauce over it. He gets some of the sauce on the tip of the fork and licks it off.

“That's vinegar,” he says.

“What from?” 

“Pumpkin seeds?”

“Almost,” Orson smiles, “I'll give you half a point for pumpkin though.”

Galen nods and slices off a piece of the gelatinous substance. The strength of the taste surprises him; it's spicy and sweet at the same time. Galen hopes Orson didn't buy some new spices for this occasion to make it even more difficult.

“This is really good,” he compliments Orson, “there's so much going on, how did you even make it work?”

“I'm very good at making things as extra as possible,” Orson shrugs, “have you forgotten that?”

“Extra, like stuffing a raisin into a chili pepper?” Galen says with a triumphant grin. 

“Extra like that,” Orson nods, “that's four and a half.”

“And it's all in broth mixed with gelatine?”

“I suppose you won't know what kind of broth?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Never mind. You’re at six out of seven.”

“Does it have a name?” Galen asks, “A really extra one?” 

“What name would you give it?”

Galen takes another bite, holds it in his mouth, thinking. He's not nearly as good at this as Orson, words are not his strong suit. 

“Coruscant,” he decides in a sudden moment of inspiration. Orson looks a little surprised at first but nods slowly in appreciation.

“Because it's so diverse?” he asks.

“And because it's always changing and you can never tell what will happen next.”

“That's a good name,” Orson assesses.

“Here's vanilla.”

“Indeed. Would you like to know the other ingredients as you finish the meal?”

Galen shakes his head, “I think that would ruin the charm.”

“As you wish.”

Galen finishes the dish and sets it on the ground. He moves over to a plate full of  orange-colored soup. There's a twig of a spice balancing precariously on the surface of the soup, in a small puddle of cream. Galen lifts it with his fingers and smells it, and Orson makes a horrified face. 

“Don’t give me that,” Galen says, “as if it wasn’t you who told me the best way to recognize a herb is by smelling it.”

“I suppose I did. Although I never expected you’d try it when it’s a part of a meal.”

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to solve this puzzle.”

The soup is a familiar one but more difficult to guess than the appetizer, mostly because the taste is smoother, less chaotic. Galen manages to guess the seven ingredients only when he’s nearly finished with the course but eventually he does. Orson looks a little surprised and incredibly proud. 

“Did you seriously not expect me to get it right?” Galen asks.

“I have faith in you,” Orson says, evasive, “but the soup was difficult.”

“It was an obstacle so I defeated it.”

“Aren’t you sweet?”

The main course is laid so close to Orson their knees touch when Galen sits down to eat it. Sitting cross-legged is not the most comfortable position imaginable to him but he doesn’t see any other way. 

“Let me help you,” Orson says and asks for the plate. Galen hands it over along with the fork - the meal was made to be eaten on the lap and thus omitted ingredients that might need to be cut with a knife. Orson cuts off a bit and sticks it on the fork, offering it to Galen. 

“Is this-” he asks when he watches the offered vegetable but Orson cuts him off.

“Taste it first.”

Galen does, and understands why he was asked to wait with his guess. The vegetable is very confusing, tasting like a carrot, but Galen distinctly remembers it looking too soft and too pale to be one. He frowns and Orson laughs. 

“See?” he says, “trust your instincts. What is it?”

“It’s a carrot that looks like mashed potatoes,” Galen replies earnestly, unable to decide.

“Well that’s the thing. Some things are not on the inside what they look like on the outside. And what should you trust more, the outside or the inside?”

“I didn’t know we were getting into a philosophical debate today.”

“Where else should we discuss complex questions of human nature than over a good meal?” Orson returns and picks up another of the colourful vegetables. “Now tell me, what did you just taste?”

“A carrot,” Galen says resolutely. He doesn’t have to think too hard to know where Orson is going with the inside and outside talk. Despite his nearly obsessive care about what he seems to others and his meticulous building of a public persona of someone who can be defeated and outsmarted if he loses his temper, Orson is much calmer and more reasonable on the inside, at home where few people have come to know him.

“Very well,” Orson nods and offers another bite. This one looks like an eggplant but Galen knows better than to say that before he tastes it. It turns out to actually be an eggplant, and Orson smirks when he sees Galen realise it. 

“Sometimes things are what they seem,” he shrugs. Galen supposes that refers to himself, and he feels the now familiar sting of guilt. He knows Orson believes he would never lie to him or even consider deceiving him, that he believes he’s got his old lover back completely. And in many ways he did; Galen even thinks he’s more devoted now, more conscientious of what it means to be in a relationship with someone. And yet...yet he can’t bring himself to accept Orson’s ways completely, to build the weapon he’s accidentally made possible in youthful pride. He hopes Orson will get his place in history books either way, even if Galen steps all over his achievement. He wonders what picture history will make of him. Will anyone ever know how he lied to the man he loved for years? Will they think him a hero or a villain?

“Galen, are you with me?” Orson’s voice brings him back from his thoughts, and Galen startles. The question strikes too close to home.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, “I got carried away.”

“I know.”

Orson has learnt to accept Galen’s daydreams and not to take them personally. He’s seen Galen shut down in the middle of working on something as well, so he knows that sometimes his lover’s thoughts drift away without him meaning to. He just wishes he knew what takes Galen’s focus away.

They finish the meal together, Orson even takes a few bites after Galen identified the seven ingredients he was asked to. When the plate is empty, Orson sets it onto the ground and he’s barely returned to his previous position when Galen pulls him into a kiss, pushing him onto his back. Orson disentangles his legs and wraps the around Galen’s waist, holding him closer. 

“Aren’t you eager to eat your dessert?” Orson breathes out when they pull away. Galen shrugs. 

“I’ve been looking forward to it for the whole time.”

“I wish you’d appreciate my cooking more.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t distract me from it then,” Galen points out and kisses the corner of Orson’s mouth and continues down to his jaw. Orson buries his fingers in Galen’s hair and guides Galen to his neck, sighing contentedly when Galen sucks at his pulse. 

“You don’t have to hold back. I don’t have any important meetings this week,” Orson breathes out and moans when Galen bites down. 

Throughout the years, Galen has come to know Orson’s body like he knows the Death Star’s blueprints. His own need to make his experiences as strong as possible to ground himself in the moment corresponded well with Orson’s desire to be reminded he was loved days after they had sex. At first, Galen didn’t really care if he hurt Orson, seeing him only as a means to get what he wanted. It turned out that nearly nothing he’d do would break Orson, and with the progression of their relationship, he learnt to use this knowledge to please his lover as best as he could, trying to make up for all he felt he owed Orson.

“Do you want to move to the bedroom or is the floor okay?” Orson mumbles in between moans. Galen stops teasing Orson’s left nipple.

“I’m not moving,” he says. Then he thinks rationally for a bit, “unless we have to?”

“We don’t,” Orson says, “you didn’t even see it?”

Galen kneels and frowns in puzzlement when Orson hands him a bottle of lube. 

“You were so taken by me you didn’t notice there was a bottle of lube beside me?” Orson chuckles, “that’s some love confession after years of relationship.”

Galen doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. Rolling Orson over got most of the flowers out of the way and he can see Orson prepared himself for the evening; there’s a well lubed plug up his ass. Galen is glad for it, unwilling to wait much longer. The food has served as a foreplay enough for him, and he’s fairly certain several of the spices were strong aphrodisiacs. 

“Turn over,” he tells Orson and smiles at the swiftness with which his order is carried out. He places a hand on the small of Orson’s back and gently presses his lover down, nearly onto the ground. When he’s sure Orson won’t move any more, he moves his hand lower, massaging the skin around Orson’s entrance, his thumb slipping in to push the plug a little deeper every once in a while. Orson moans and moves his hips to meet Galen’s hands, ever so slightly, not to get caught. At last, Galen stops playing and gently removes the plug. He doesn’t think he’s seen this one before, and wonders if Orson bought it specially for this occasion. 

Galen opens the bottle and coats his fingers with the lube before pushing two fingers inside Orson just to see if he’s loose enough. Orson arches his back to take them deeper, assuring Galen he can take more. Galen unzips his trousers and frees his cock with his other hand. He pulls his fingers from Orson to get some of the lube on his cock, and in a little while he’s pushing inside Orson. 

“Oh yes, this is definitely a good dessert,” he tells Orson as he waits for him to adjust.

“Why thank you, I’m quite proud of it,” Orson replies, “hold me down, please?”

He crosses his forearms behind his back. Galen wraps his fingers around Orson’s wrists and lies another hand between his shoulder blades. This position can’t be comfortable for Orson on the floor, but he doesn’t say anything so Galen picks up a pace.

They lose themselves to the moment, Galen into the intensity, Orson to the pain that keeps him alive. They come almost at the same time, Orson seeking friction on the floor beneath himself. Galen rolls off Orson when they’re done, breathing heavily, and nudges Orson to roll over onto his back. There are red blotches on Orson’s skin - on his shoulders, his left cheek, his knees. Galen wonders if they’ll turn blue with time. 

“You’re so intense you could kill me if you wanted,” Orson breathes out, “and I can’t get enough of that danger.”

_ You get off on the possibility that I’ll kill you, _ Galen thinks grimly,  _ what does that say about us?  _ He doesn’t know but in that moment, content and happy, he doesn’t really care.

  
  



End file.
